Unexpected Fiancée

Chapter 24: You Are Not My Type

Jane had been so engrossed in applying the ointment that she didn't notice Patrick's presence. He stood there, clad in a white bathrobe, which revealed a portion of his well-built chest. The accidenta collision with Jane left his chin aching, causing him to knit his brows.

Droplets of water dripped from his hair, and his eyebrows and eyelashes glistened with moisture. Jane found herself captivated by his appearance; she couldn't deny that he was very handsome. "Have you had your fill of gawking?" Patrick teased with a smug smile, pulling her back to reality. "When did you get here? You startled me. Quit sneaking around like a thief and get dressed!"

Jane rubbed her head and turned away, feeling somewhat shy.

Patrick chuckled and fastened his bathrobe, then gently mocked her, "My chin is hurting because you bumped into me. What are you going to do about it?"

Jane had bumped into him, but she hadn't expected him to complain instead of apologizing.

“I... I'm going to take a shower," Jane replied, flustered under his penetrating gaze. She grabbed clean clothes and hurried into the bathroom, muttering to herself, "Why did he come out dressed like that? Oh, God. Why am I suddenly so sweaty?"

Staring at Jane as she rushed away, Patrick pondered whether he came across as intimidating. Knock! Knock! Knock! Jane was still in the shower when she heard a series of knocks on the bathroom door.

"Who's there?" she called, her heart racing as she rinsed her face.

What could it be? Could it be Patrick? He was the only one in the room. What did he want? Patrick's voice came from the other side, "It's me."

Jane immediately became cautious. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm taking a shower? Go away!"

"You dropped something,” Patrick said in a low, husky voice.

"What's that?" Jane asked as she turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a short bath towel. She was skeptical; she didn't recall dropping anything. Even if she had, couldn't he wait until she finished her shower? What was Patrick up to? He usually behaved with decency, but could he be a peeping Tom?

"Check for yourself," Patrick replied with a knowing smile, holding the item in his hand.

Jane checked the pile of clothes she had brought into the bathroom. To her dismay, her clean underwear was missing. She must have dropped it outside when she was in a hurry. Was that what Patrick was holding? She was mortified

Jane ran her hand through her hair anxiously, her face flushing red. After some internal struggle, she tiptoed to the door, opened it slightly, and peeked out. "I accidentally dropped it. Hand it over.” The orange light illuminated her face, making her smooth and tender skin glisten with water droplets and turn slightly red. Patrick couldn't help but stare at her in awe.

His lips curled into a broad smile as he handed her the underwear. "Be more careful. Don't drop it again.”

"Thank you,” Jane mumbled, quickly taking the underwear, her hand briefly brushing against his. The electric touch made her cheeks burn. She hastily shut the door, her heart racing.

Why was she so flustered? It was such an embarrassing situation. Jane regretted agreeing to come to this household to please her grandfather. It was clear she was asking for trouble. She took a few deep breaths to dispel the inexplicable tension in her heart.

After her shower, Jane emerged from the bathroom only to find Patrick sitting on the sofa. His legs were crossed, and he was absorbed in a financial magazine, his handsome eyes narrowed and focused.

“I'm going to bed," Jane informed him.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how ambiguous they sounded.

"Is that an invitation?" Patrick asked, his voice dripping with charm.

Jane was taken aback. How had her straightforward words turned into an invitation? She had merel wanted to convey her exhaustion and desire for rest.

She replied firmly, "Patrick Pansy, stop being narcissistic. We're only together because of our grandfathers. All this will be over in three months. Behave yourself!"

Narcissistic? Patrick had never been called that by a woman before. A sudden chill replaced the warmth in his eyes.

He scrutinized Jane from head to toe, saying, "Don't flatter yourself. You don't even have a good figure. If I wanted to sleep with someone, it wouldn't be you. You're not my type. I prefer my womer to be curvy, sophisticated, and pleasant.”

Jane was taken aback by his critique. She was proud of her curvaceous figure that turned heads. "Oh, and you don't have a good figure either! None of your family members do. You're all unattractive!" she retorted, rolling her eyes at him. She felt like a rabbit who had just had its carrot stolen.

Patrick averted his gaze and said, "I don't have time for this. I'm going to the study.”

He stood up and left without a backward glance, though he couldn't get Jane out of his mind. She was beautiful, intelligent, confident, and unpretentious, but she wasn't what he was looking for.

As he left the room, he was reminded of an incident from when he was thirteen years old.

“Patrick, your hand is injured. Let me wrap it up for you," a girl with a ponytail, a few years younger than him, had said. She held out a handkerchief and skillfully bandaged his wound, tying a beautifu bow.

"Does it hurt?" the girl had asked, revealing her beautiful big eyes.

Patrick had hugged her and reassured her, "No, it doesn't. Don't be scared, Candy. Help will come soon; I'm sure of it."

As he snapped back to reality, he opened a drawer and took out a faded handkerchief. He gazed at it for a long moment, wondering where Candy was now and if she was living a good life.

The following morning, Jane awoke to an empty room. The other side of the bed was cold. Had Patrick stayed in the study all night? Jane wondered if she had misjudged him.

A powerful and handsome man like him must have many admirers. Jane was just a country girl; why would he be interested in her when he had better options? Jane was relieved that he wasn't pursuing her romantically; she didn't want anything to complicate matters.

Her lack of love life was the perfect excuse she could give her grandfather. However, she began to feel that this arrangement might lead to trouble.

While pondering this, Jane hummed a song happily as she got ready for work. She had barely sat at her desk for a few minutes when Monica summoned her.

"What can I do for you?" Jane asked with indifference, weary of Monica's constant demands and manipulations. She couldn't help but wonder what Monica had in store this time.